Jay
by GatsbyGeek
Summary: The Great Gatsby love story with a slight twist. Nichole Carraway falls hard in love with the man that's hard in love with her cousin.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, my first story on this account is a Gatsby fanfiction…go figure…. This isn't my first story or my first time writing by a long shot, so I can guarantee it won't be **_**terrible**_**, but then again it might not be great either haha! Sorry this chapter is so short!**

**Disclaimer: The Great Gatsby book and both movies do not belong to me**

* * *

Chapter One: The Golden Girl

I had moved into West Egg sometime early in the year; I had changed my life's path from writing to accounting. Writing is a one way street, you see. On one hand, you get to convey thoughts and create stories however you wish, as though you were queen. On the other hand, criticism is a very destructive thing. One can only take so much before caving. I started by buying a small cottage as well as several books on bonds and the like.

My cousin Daisy was residing in East Egg, and much to my aggravation, she knew I came to town. I had no choice but to visit her and her wretched husband.

Tom was sweating profusely, dismounting his large stag. I've always gotten a bad impression of him since the moment we met.

"Shakespeare!" He clapped a hulking hand on my shoulder, pulling me inside. "How's the great American novel?"

His sneer gave it all away. Tom was a misogynist at heart; he loved to mock my dream of writing, saying that there was no way a woman could formulate thoughts clever enough to sell, or that we talk too much anyway and didn't need to write it all down. His hand "accidentally" slipped close to my breast revoltingly.

For as much as he hates women's minds, he sure does _love_ their bodies.

"Actually, I'm going into banking and investments now."

"Ah, well remind me not to let you near my taxes, lass!"

Before I could snap back he knocked me through the large double doors, his hands too present on my waist for comfort. White drapes were flowing like water before my eyes, concealing the one I came to see, the golden girl, Daisy Buchanan.

"Is that you, my lovely?"

Her voice was sweet and innocent, sickeningly so. How someone with a child could remain so pure on the outside was beyond me. Her golden hair was brushed a hundred times over, cheeks adorned with blush, brown eyes glistening.

"Oh, do they miss me in Chicago?"

Lord help me, this dear girl was egotistically insatiable.

"Yes, at least a dozen people send their love, they're crying 'Daisy, Daisy, we can't live without you!'"

Giggling at my exaggeration, she stood, graceful as always.

"Nichole, this is Jordan Baker," Daisy leaned forward, as if to tell me a secret."She's a very famous golfer."

The woman's beauty was immense and intimidating.

"Oh, I'll push you two into broom closets and secret meetings, it'll be glorious!"

My face heated and, to make matters worse, Tom entered the room just soon enough to catch her plan. "Daisy, dear, Nichole isn't like those ungodly _flappers_, with their short skirts and painted faces- she knows where she belongs; with a working man."

He sure knew how to piss me off when he needed to.

"So where do you live, Nichole darling?"

Daisy's voice was not one I wanted in my head. It was high and doe-like; a whisper you could never quite catch. It matched her beauty but grated my nerves.

"Across the bay, I own a small cottage in West Egg."

"I know a friend in West Egg!"

"Oh, well I just moved in, I don't really know anyone yet."

Jordan paused, her mouth forming a small 'o'.

"Oh but you _must_ know Gatsby."

A small gasp caught my attention and silence wrapped its fat fingers around our throats.

"Gatsby? What Gatsby?"

Tom have a sour look and went to speak when the butler came in, interrupting the suspicious exchange.

"Dinner is served."

* * *

After being called to dinner we entered a breathtaking room, magnificent silverware and glasses speckled the table, shimmering with light.

I hated it.

East Eggers always had to shove their wealth down everyone's throat. If only I had that money, I could do something to make a change. A childhood of poverty had me well accustomed with what lack of money could do to a family. This house was a waste.

Glasses clink together. Meaningless objects.

"It's about the butler's nose…" Meaningless words.

"Have you heard of the _Rise of The Colored Empire_? Everyone should read it, fantastic book!"

"Tom reads large books with big words in them."

Flicking an African American butler's tie, he continued. "It discusses the theory that the Black man will overpower the whites unless we keep them in place."

"We've got to beat them down." Daisy was sickening, siding with anything Tom had to say. I couldn't stand women like that.

My voice got the best of me. "Now I don't think that's entirely true. What's happening is merely a fight for equality, Tom."

Tom chuckled. "Save it for your _novel_, Sweetheart."

Jackass.

My brooding was interrupted by a shrill phone ring. Tom left his dinner- and guests- fairly rudely, Daisy trailing after him.

"What are they-" Jordan smacked a thin hand over my mouth, her lily perfume stinging my eyes.

"Tom's got a woman."

"What?!"

"_Shhhh! _Everyone knows except Daisy…hell, maybe she does know, I haven't the slightest clue. It's tragic, really."

When the door opened again we scuttled back into place, and the dinner resumed.

The phone never stopped ringing.

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**A/N: Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Abb1120: Thank you!**

**Shimmerandshine29: thank you, I loved reading OCxGatsby stories but I felt there wasn't enough so I decided to make one of my own!**

**H: Thanks!**

**Wilhelm Wigworthy: wow! Thank you so much!**

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Chapter 2

After a tense dinner Daisy had pulled me through the large double doors, and out towards the water.

"Oh Nichole…"

"What?"

"It's just, well, you see, I think everything's terrible. You know, I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything, and I'm never satisfied. Oh!"

Realizing what she had said, Daisy put a pale hand to her mouth, ladylike and graceful.

"You must think I'm just awful."

I said nothing.

The tension only grew and grew in the silence of the night. As a fellow woman, I could understand how being trapped in a marriage with a man like Tom could be draining, but as someone who has been poor and in tough situations, I wanted to grapple her throat for wanting to throw away what she has. Swallowing my anger I threw out a topic

"Your daughter, she's doing alright?"

_Ouch, way to go Nichole. Smart move; bring up the daughter she could care less about. _Thankfully she didn't seem offended.

"Pammy? Oh, yes, she's quite alright."

Daisy's breath caught and it was as though I could see the words get stuck, their uncertainty hooking into the walls of her throat, bleeding risk. She managed to push them out and took on a look I rarely see on her. For as long as I've known her Daisy has always been theatrical and all about the presentation. Few times have I seen her serious; raw and true.

"When she was born Tom was God knows where, with God knows whom, and I asked the nurse if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and I wept. 'All right,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool; that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.'"

Again I said nothing.

I've always been the bitter one, the jealous one, the hopeless semantic. But I never did realize until that night the truth of women: Every girl has spite and hate and nostalgia inside of her. Each one sent from God with a course set, threaded with seconds of sunshine and years of drought.

"All the bright, precious things fade so fast...And they don't come back."

Daisy had a small, crystalline tear leisurely trekking down her porcelain cheek, and once again my spite overcame me.

* * *

When I arrived back home I noticed something was off. A figure was standing on the dock, a magnificent portrait.

The man was a tall, almost unreal silhouette, sculpted like a statue. He stood, his hand outstretched in front of him, a green light shining through the gaps between his fingers resembling the sun, rising from behind mountain peaks. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew this man was important. He stood with a commanding stance, his shoulders broad and a hand tucked into his suit's pocket.

The man's very being was a contradiction; young but dressed lushly, stance firm but arms leisurely, offsetting but alluring. He reached for the mystic green light as though it held all worldly ambitions and the answers to all his questions. Ridiculously enough, I felt a sort of jealousy towards the green light, for it could draw forth such a strong feeling of longing from that man that I couldn't arise from a single person.

That night I paced my living room floor awake, thoughts foiling any and all attempts at sleep. I knew I was too bitter, I had been well aware for years, but Daisy always had ways of dragging it out of me. We were much closer when we were small, always playing together and never apart.

The trouble only started when we began to grow up.

I was by no means an ugly girl, but the boys never did look twice. Daisy attracted the attention, always perfect and filled with grace.

I admired her. I envied her. I spited her. I hated her.

God, did I hate her.

**A/N: Hey guys! Again so sorry about the wait and short chapter(It's so short it's shameful, ugh i'm so sorry!), the next will be longer and out in about a week or so. I have AP testing coming up and need to get my serious study face on! Wish me luck GatsbyGeekers!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Great Gatsby book, movies or any other adaptations.**

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Chapter Three

The Valley of Ashes was a grotesque place.

As Tom and I sat on our plush seat cushions in the moving train, I looked out over the dim despair and ash. Men were hard at work and I couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for them; it must be so difficult to have such a dreary, sad color embedded into their skin more and more as they worked. Tom paid no heed to my concern and instead sprung up, startling me.

"Stand up, Nichole." He barked as he pulled my arm in response like an angry parent with an unruly child.

"What? Why? We haven't come across Yale yet!'

Tom had tricked me, telling me that we were having lunch with important scholars at the prestigious college. I should've known better than to trust anything a Buchannan says.

The large man pulled me to a train door and shoved, forcing us both to leap off, Tom immediately breaking into a sprint, yelling back at me, "I understand if you stay behind, wouldn't want your dress to get wet!"

I hate when he mocks me. I followed him until we reached a garage, _George B. Wilson. Cars Bought and Sold._ A particularly burly man appeared, wiping his ashen hands with a dirtied cloth, clearly a mechanic of some sort.

"Wilson! How's business?"

The man, called Wilson, replied meekly as the sound of tapping heels was heard from the upper level of his building, "It's alright, when are you going to sell me that car?"

"I've got my man working on it."

A part of my heart went out to the poor soul; Tom clearly had no intention of fulfilling his part of selling the man whatever type of car he was promised. Wilson couldn't see through his lies like I could. All of a sudden, the tapping noise grew louder and a woman appeared, descending the stairs.

"If it's business you're talking, you should be talking to me…"

This redheaded woman was the complete embodiment of a snake. She barked at Wilson to grab chairs, all the while keeping her attention on Tom, her focus growing more erotic once the ordered man left the room.

"Mrs. Wilson, this is Nichole Caraway…she's a writer, you know."

I argued meekly with Tom to no avail, "I'm actually in bonds…"

The woman looked me up and down with disdain before turning back to banter with Tom.

"Get on the next train with Nichole and me."

"Now? Are we gettin' that dog?"

"Whatever you want, just come and call your sister, Nicole will like her."

I didn't know if I could handle another comment from Tom about my sexuality before knocking him out. The man just loved to undermine me in any way possible. A large part of me wanted to turn back and return to my bungalow to finish unpacking and maybe sort out my banking textbooks…maybe even catch a glimpse of the mysterious man from the dock. I had a feeling I'd be seeing him again.

* * *

_Thump…thump…thump…thump thump...SLAM…thump…_

I sat on the musty couch, my legs curled to my chest, my posture long forgotten. The dog in front of me ate his food in a disgusting manner. The couple above me made noises at a disgusting pitch. I couldn't handle it anymore!

My feet hit the floor and I burst to the door, yanking it open to have a tall, slender woman stare me in the eye.

"I'm Catherine, ain't we havin' a party?"

Catherine was an intimidating woman with slicked red hair and a puffy attitude. She was one of those women that wore tight skirts and pronounced "party" as "pautee".

"Well, uh, I was just leaving so-"

"Hello!", screeched another woman, this time older, entering the doorway with a man.

Catherine loomed over me again, her breath puffing into my face, the scent of cigarettes choking me.

"What's the matta'? Don't ya like me?"

Before I could react, Mrs. Wilson, who I had found out was called Myrtle, burst through the bedroom door and down the stairs, clad in a sheer, crimson party dress. Her friends screech in greeting.

"Myrtle Tyrtle! Oh, that dress is adorable!"

The group migrates to the kitchen for ice, and Tom crosses the living room to scour the liquor cabinet. My hands sweaty, I swallowed hard and approached him.

"Tom, I really should be going-"

He snatched my arm and yanked it roughly, "Nonsense! Listen Nichole, you need to play. ball." His teeth gritting as he spat the last two words venomously.

My upper arm started to throb and I knew there'd be a bruise in the morning. A knot formed in my stomach and I felt like vomiting. Tom was a friend in college but he never failed to scare me.

"But Tom I-"

"_Shut up, for God's sake!"_

Tom grasped my arms and tossed me over his shoulder, his hand _accidentally_ grasping my thigh too high for comfort. He marched over to the armchair by the group of women and threw me down with such force that I could feel his irritation in my heart. Catherine sauntered over and dropped herself into my lap, my face turning a deep red.

"Catherine is, how do I say, interested in more scandalous genders…" Myrtle bragged.

"It's alright, Myrtle dear, so is Nichole!"

My rage bubbled, "Tom, for the last time, I'm not-!"

Tom dropped the needle on the record player, music drowning out my sentence. Catherine turned her attention to me, unfortunately.

"Do you live on Long Island too?"

"I live at West Egg"

"Really? I was at a party there about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby's. Do you know him?"

My heart thumped heavily at the mention of the mysterious man's forbidden name.

"I live right next door to him.."

"He's the cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm's. You know, the evil German king."

My attention shifted to Tom, lifting Myrtle's skirt, his friend proceeding to snap pictures, Myrtle squealing in girlish glee. My disgust bubbled up inside of me and I wanted to tear that smug smirk off Tom's face, his perverted hand drifting farther up-

Catherine's breath at my ear pulls my focus back to her, the moisture drawing forth a strange feeling from my stomach.

"Neither one of them can stand who they're married to."

"Doesn't she like Wilson?"

Myrtle overheard and shouted back, "He's a greasy scumbag!"

My rage was too much to handle, causing me to bury my face in the back of Catherine's dress, muffling my spiteful expletive, "_Unappreciative bitch."_

If I weren't so used to my occasional outburst I would've been horrified at my own disgust and rage. Looking back to the woman on my lap, she popped a pill, downing it without liquid.

"Nerve pills, I get them from a doctor in Queens. You want one?"

"My nerves are fine, thanks."

A smile came across her face anyway, and Tom kept close watch as she placed a second pill on her tongue, confusing me, before gripping the back of my neck and crashing her lips into mine. Confusion and panic set into me as Catherine shoved Scotch to my lips, washing the pill down and sending me sputtering. The night wore on with sex, loud music, and liquor. The buzzing of New York became like a soft hum and slowly, I began to enjoy this place. I was within and without; enchanted ad repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

* * *

Hours later I was pulled somewhat out of my drunken stupor by shouting.

"You've got no right to speak her name!"

Tom and Myrtle appeared from inside the bedroom half dressed and worse for wear.

"Daisy! Daisy! Daisy! I'll speak it whenever I want! Daisy! Dais—"

Tom's large, powerful hand met the side of her face at high speed with such force that it creates a resounding _Thwack!_

Myrtle flies backwards, into a screeching group of women, her nose broken and blood streaming freely. Considering my disdain for her, the whole scene didn't faze me much. I continued to drink myself into a rut and, admittedly, I had no clue how I got home.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of a door closing. It stirred me from my slumber, and I looked around groggily. My first realization was that I was on my porch bench.

The second was that under a decorative fleece blanket, I was completely clad in only my underwear. A blush rose to my cheeks and I thanked the heavens that no one saw me. Paper rustled under my hand as I pushed myself into a sitting position. A note had found its way into my fist while I was drunk.

Smoothing out wrinkles, the note was actually written in beautiful calligraphy, the black ink making it look like some love letter out of a romance novel.

_Ms. Caraway,_

_I am pleased to see that you are enjoying West Egg and adjusting quite well. _

_As for the markings on your person…I trust you know your self worth and leave the cause._

_Jay Gatsby_

Confusion tightened in my brow as I read the last sentence. I looked downwards and saw the purple finger-like bruises marring my arm and waist. My blush deepened and I pulled the blanket covering me further around my body and I realized Gatsby saw almost all of me…but that shade of red was nothing compared to when I finally noticed…I don't own a fleece blanket…but apparently my mysterious neighbor does… goodness what have I gotten myself into?


End file.
